


Free Fallin'

by allegheny



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: 2006 MLB Japan All-Star Series, Bathroom Sex, M/M, Mile High Club, New York Mets, Philadelphia Phillies, Public Blow Jobs, a little internalised homophobia, boy scout with a blog david wright, stone cold str8 guy chase utley, throwback fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-20 08:15:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19988956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allegheny/pseuds/allegheny
Summary: Chase is going to be stuck on a plane for nine hours, sitting next to the most insufferably goody-goody ballplayer this side of the Mississippi, and a New York Met at that. What could possibly be worse?Back in November 2006, the delegation of players Major League Baseball sent off to Japan for the Japan All-Star Series included Chase Utley and David Wright.





	Free Fallin'

**Author's Note:**

> _“I just told him our position,” Wright said Monday. “I’ve known Chase a long time. We went on a trip to Japan together, and I know he plays the game passionately. I just explained how we felt about it.”_
> 
> I know a euphemism when I see one, David.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Chase is going to kill someone. He’s going to kill Bochy for this stupid idea, he’s going to kill Ryan for going along with it, he’s going to kill that other Mets kid for making it possible and he’ll also kill Joe Nathan for getting his own seat. Then he’ll blow the MLB office in New York the fuck up, and he'll get tried as a war criminal, or something.

"Ryan, you can't do this to me, man. Come on, dude."

He's running after Ryan like a dumbass, because Ryan is freaky tall and he's got a long stride, this fucking kid, Chase swears—

"What did I ever DO to you. I was nice to you this year. The hell did I do to deserve this?"

"You'll get over it." Ryan just smirks, walking after the group in the airport as if they're walking towards an even remotely acceptable situation.

"No I _won't_!" Chase can't believe it. So this is why you need to bully rookies. Otherwise they'll win ROY, get cocky and think they can just do anything, like forcing Chase to spend the whole flight to Japan in Hell.

Ryan turns towards him, and shakes his head like he's scolding a goddamn kid. Now, that fucking takes the cake. _He's_ not the kid here! He's 27 and he's got four years in the majors, and, like, he went to college, and he made the Dean's List. Okay, Ryan went to college too, but he's _younger_ and less experienced and all.  
Maybe he can only blame himself. Maybe his first mistake was not having Ryan carry his bags last summer. Now all he's got is a huge grinning motherfucker with ear studs taunting him.

"I think Bochy's right. You're being way too intense about this, man." Ryan says with that really annoying kind of easygoing smile. "I mean, he's a really cool dude!"

Oh, of course Ryan would say that. He's sitting next to Iguchi, who, as far as Chase is aware, doesn't really speak much English, which means Ryan will get to lay back and be left alone the entire goddamn trip, while Chase has to make conversation with the male equivalent of Hillary Duff, giggle included.

"Why don't YOU sit next to him if he's that good? Why don't you _marry_ him if you love him so much!" Chase exclaims, throwing his free arm in the air, because he's still dragging his goddamn cabin bag which, by the way, is heavy as shit because he brought his new IBM laptop to watch video from September, and TSA freaked out about it, and blah, blah, blah.

"You're overreacting to this whole thing. Is this what you're like every offseason, like, since you don't get to bite someone's ass off on the field daily?" Ryan jeers.

Motherfucker. Chase is about to retaliate, but he figures he should stop hollering, because they're arriving at the gate, and the last thing he wants to do is let their teammates and travel buddies for the next week know that he can't stand pretty much half of them. That wouldn't be so hot.

"What I mean is, It's not the end of the world, dude." Ryan adds on like Chase didn't get it the first time, Jesus, the fucking insolence on the kid.

He chooses to be the bigger man, which is the hardest thing he's had to do this year by a mile, and he'd had to do a lot of pretty hard stuff this year, like, giving up milk, and just looks out ahead at the small group he can only imagine is a bunch of major leaguers, because if you gather thirty tall-ass buffed-out dudes and put gold chains on them, it's either that or the gym-bunny division of the official All-American contingent of Bad Dressers Anonymous.

And immediately he sees him, fluttering his way-too-dark eyelashes at a button-upped Joe Mauer — seriously, it's fucking weird, Chase's sister is obsessed with her mascara tube and hers look pretty much invisible compared to whatever's going on there, Chase is confident in his hyperbole — there he is.  
The most insufferably goody-goody ballplayer this side of the Mississippi.  
The guy he's going to be stuck sitting next to for nine hours.

David fucking Wright.

All-blogging, all-Letterman-guesting, all-playoff-choking boy wonder of the fucking New York Mets.

Whoop dee fucking doo.

A few guys spot him and Ryan as they make their way to the cluster of chairs where they've decided to throw all their backpacks on, and he's thinking about sneaking around and going to talk to someone, like, maybe John Lackey, or try to catch up with Ramón, anything that can reduce the amount of time he has to spend around David in the next twelve hours. But of course, there is no God, life is pretty much an endless circle of suffering, and baseball is a fickle distraction from its long inescapable existential dread.

"Hey! Chase! How you doing?"

There's only one guy here who sounds like a teenage girl with a sore throat, and he's got a barrage of pearly whites worthy of a toothpaste model on display for Chase.

Great.  
Wright slaps his shoulder a couple times — okay, who does he think he is, first of all — as what Chase assumes is a greeting in whichever part of Carebear Kingdom he crawled out from.

"I'm..." he starts, piecing together a way to hide how annoyed he is. "Good." Great going, Chase. "How bout you?" He adds, trying to look as disinterested as possible so that Wright will give him the short version.

From the gigantic smile it gets him, he might as well have told Wright he just found a way to go back to the NLCS and replace him with a version of him that can actually hit.

"Oh I'm good, I'm great! I'm really excited. It's such an amazing opportunity, you know, getting to go to Japan! I can't wait, man."

Chase has never met a guy who sounds more like he's taken one too many media coaching classes in triple A. It's fucking dire. And he's wearing a t-shirt that's way too tight to be comfortable with jeans way too baggy to be practical, and a New York Giants hat, and the whole thing is in a color scheme that even a colorblind clown would stray from. He wants to ask him if he got dressed with his eyes closed, but Wright would probably think he's just affectionately ribbing him. Which is unacceptable, because Chase never, ever wants to make a man with a blog think he likes him.

"Yeah. Sure. Right." He's really forcing the deadpan look, which hopefully will make Wright get the fucking message that he's not interested in playing teatime. He glances around for Ryan, for anybody really, to rescue him, but the motherfucker is nowhere to be seen, probably off to take a leak or something, because he's worse than Chase's mom when he travels, and he absolutely has to go every five seconds, so he hopes for Iguchi's sake that Ryan takes the aisle seat.

"You see that Boche sat us together?" Wright continues, undisturbed. _Boche_. Really? Corny.

"Yeah." Chase manages to let out as politely as as he can muster considering that he's dying to just walk away, because how the fuck can one man be so bad at taking the hint. It's a real problem, like, it's pretty bad.

"So which one do you prefer, window or aisle? I don't really care, you know. I'm fine with both!" Wright beams at him.

Chase is going to straight up just shoot himself. Could Wright be any more sickeningly fucking nice? It's nauseating. Nobody is that upbeat without being seriously fucked up in the head, and now Chase is trying to figure out what kind of traumatising disaster happened to him in childhood or whatever. Maybe someone force-fed him Christian TV shows Clockwork Orange style, or maybe he was raised in one of them hippie cults out in the desert where everyone drinks way too much homemade ginger ale, or maybe his parents were the kind of people that gave out oranges and toothpaste for Halloween and made the kids donate all of their Trick O' Treating candy to children with toenail cancer or something.

"Uh." Chase says, completely and absolutely wanting to die. "Whatever. Window, I guess."

He should have said aisle, so at least he could run away if he needed to. But he guesses at least he can look out the window and pretend he isn't hearing Wright when he wants to talk about whatever Wright likes to talk about. World peace. Flower composition. Musicals. Whatever.

"Okay, cool!" Wright gives him a thumbs up — _really?_ , smiling still. "Well I just need to call my Mom and Dad before we take off. They're a little worried, you know, it's my first time out of the country, besides Canada and all."

Chase nods slowly, and Wright finally leaves him alone.  
Almost as if on cue, Ryan walks up to him, fanning off his wet hands. He grins at him as the "Boarding" sign lights up.

"Ready?"

Chase glances at where Wright is standing on his flip phone squished between his shoulder and ear, gathering up his things.

"Ugh." He groans, getting in line and digging out his passport. "No."

It's going to be torture.

\--

So, just as planned, Wright's been talking his ear off for half the time they've been on the plane. Which is all of about three hours. They've had their meal, and Chase thought maybe Wright would just shut up once they killed the lights and everyone started going to sleep, but no fucking dice.

The worst part is that the only thing Wright wanted to talk about was baseball, and Chase was really starting to wonder if he wasn’t just trying to taunt him or something, because he kept asking him about conditioning and the Phillies' season or whatever when the fucker damn well knows they finished twelve goddamn games back from the Mets.

But Wright being even able to be that cynical — or like, even imagine any level of cynicism is even possible, to be honest — would be the most elaborate long con in the history of ever.  
Chase could respect it, sure, but he doesn't think that's what's happening here.  
Wright is just a huge fucking nerd, who really wants to talk about how he loves how _hard_ Chase plays the game, how _passionate_ he is, yadda fucking yadda. Chase is seriously considering toning it down next season just so the kid stops looking up to him or whatever else is going on, the way he's gushing over him.

Anyway. He's mercifully been shutting up for the past twenty minutes, and everyone else is asleep, so maybe he'll actually start snoozing and Chase can sneak out by hopping over him and go jerk one out in the plane toilet because he's a little bit stressed out by the whole thing beyond being stuck next to the Greatest Boy-Scout of America and he figures that would be a good way to wind down and join the sleeping party.

"You okay?"

Oh for fuck's sake, can't the kid just take a goddamn nap?  
He's looking at Chase with concerned eyes, which is the most pathetic thing that could possibly happen to Chase.

"You look a little tense."

Chase wants to answer that yes actually he is, he is a little tense, because he's sitting next to a motherfucking chatterbox with manicured fucking eyebrows and a degree in Good Deeds, and he just wants to be left alone—

"Jesus fucking Christ, dude, did anybody in your clubhouse ever consider, I don't know, sticking a fucking dick in your mouth to teach you to shut the fuck up for five minutes?" he snaps, teeth gritted and voice low.

He immediately regrets saying it, because it's like, a little bit harsh, and also sounds kind of homophobic, and Chase doesn't exactly knock that stuff himself. Not that he particularly wants that known.  
Wright goes scarlet in the dark, and immediately turns away, his eyes wide and squeezing his lips together, staring down at his hand on his lap. He looks like a kid caught red-handed watching porn.  
There's silence for a couple minutes, but it's not the kind of silence Chase wanted. It feels way worse than Wright trying to tell him about whatever new approach he's been working on.

And he's still thinking of the gay thing too. What if Wright starts going around telling everyone he hates gays? That would really fuck up Chase's hookup circuit. Worse, and more likely considering Wright is youth pastor material, what if he started going around telling everybody Chase is totally fantasising about Tom Glavine or whoever else sticking his dick down Wright's throat, or whatever shit he definitely did not say but that could be assumed, or like, gleaned, or deformed, from what he said, or whatever, and like, that would just suck for Chase considering he's not trying to be that one gay ballplayer. He's just trying to have fun and have a good time, right. No crime in that.

So they just sit there, kind of stiff, with the shitty American Airlines blankets on their laps.  
Maybe Ryan was right, maybe he's too much of a hardass in the offseason, but let's not think about Ryan right now, because Ryan is sleeping pretty peacefully five rows back and does not have to deal with a flustered 23 year old brat with puppy dog eyes, who's probably going to try and apologise, when really Chase was the one being kind of a jerk, it's not completely the kid's fault he's hopelessly annoying.

"Look." Chase starts, trying to be the bigger man.

Wright just shakes his head, silently, still looking down at his fingernails.

"Okay then." If that's how it's going to be, he might as well push past him right now and go tug that one out right now so he can go to sleep before getting even guiltier. He'll try to think about something else than old Glavine teaching the rookie a lesson, because that's kind of pervy, and Chase already is kind of half-chubbed from just the idea and he's not exactly proud of it.

But he doesn't really know how to do it. Should he just stand up right now? God, this is so fucking tragic. Just so fucking lame. Just the worst thing ever. Who would have thought sitting next to a completely silent David Wright would feel way worse than sitting next to a way too chatty David Wright? Not Chase, that's for sure.

And now Wright is acting like a Grade A weirdo all of a sudden, looking around, behind them, ahead of them, next to them, up and down the aisle, and no, they didn't wake anybody up, the whole plane is in a goddamn coma, Mauer is drooling on Arroyo's shoulder, all is still. Maybe Wright's got the same idea as Chase maybe he's gonna go to the bathroom to jerk the stress away too. How awkward would that be, though? Ugh.

But he doesn't actually get up. He just sits there, which is pretty irritating, because Chase wanted a pretext to get up, because you know, his hard on won't jack itself off. And Chase can feel Wright's eyes on him now and he doesn't exactly like that too much, being watched, and what the hell is Wright's problem, really, anyway? What is Chase supposed to do?

Stupid pain in the ass kid with his fucking tongue always hanging out like he's a slutty little porno actor with an oral fixation. He's gonna take the tip off sliding one day, and it's gonna be a whole thing.  
Okay, clearly they can't just sit there for the next six hours without doing anything. Someone's bound to have to go pee, at the very least. So Chase glances at Wright. It's a mistake of course, because he accidentally locks eyes with Wright, and now he has to hold contact otherwise he'll look like he was stealing looks or something. He has to be the alpha here, it's like dealing with puppies. Can't falter.

Wright's eyes are wide open and round and deep brown, but Chase is no closer to understanding what he's feeling by looking into them. He imagines Wright must feel betrayed, or ashamed, or something. But he couldn't tell from the eyes. Windows of the soul, bullshit. Is "intense" and "definitely kind of cute" an emotion?

So needless to say Chase is pretty surprised when Wright's hand lands right on his crotch, his crotch which is having a hard-on situation right now. He totally did not expect that.

"Uh." he lets out, sounding real stupid.

Wright doesn't say anything, he just looks up at him with those huge goddamn eyes, fluttering those thick goddamn eyelashes — oh God, the whole shtick looks straight out of the adult channel from hotel TVs, except, like, male — and he gives Chase's dick a fucking squeeze.  
Chase doesn't really know if he's down with this right now, because what the fuck, right? This is like, a public place. But also, he really likes having his dick touched, he can't lie.

And Wright's like, totally hot.

So he isn't exactly gonna push him off when Wright lifts the blanket and leans over. That would just be a little rude, especially considering he just yelled at him and oh God, was Wright flirting the whole time? Was that all an incredibly lame attempt at buttering him up? Chase isn’t sure if that's endearing or completely pathetic. Jury’s still out. Either way, Wright’s a total fucking freak, because he’s really got his head under the blanket and he’s working his fly open like this is the really risqué japanese porno Chase had painstakingly downloaded in preparation for the trip where the girl sucks the dude off in the commuter train. Hey, he's thinking about porn a whole lot today. Maybe he does need to get laid like, really bad, maybe Wright felt that. Like, maybe he has a sixth sense for that kind of thing, who knows. Wouldn't be the weirdest thing about the kid.

“Um, Wright—“ he starts, though he’s not exactly sure what he’s gonna tell him, and he’s just saying something to make sure this is real and he’s not having a really weird plane dream like when he woke up on the charter to Chicago dreaming about hitting grand slams with a cucumber.

“David.” The kid mumbles, popping the last button on his jeans, and Chase realises he’s correcting him.

“Right. David. Um...”

He should really be telling him to stop. But David tips his head down and Chase feels his lips through his boxers, and— oh, fuck it. Might as well let it happen, then. Everyone's asleep, after all, and Chase is like, actually really hard right now, and that's a pretty important thing to deal with, and the kid is totally into it.  
So there's nothing wrong with it.  
David pulls at his waistband a little, and takes out his cock, and Chase is almost glad he can't see David underneath the blanket, because he's pretty sure it would be a little too hot to see David's... Sexually Ambiguous Disney Prince face so close to his dick, and he'd come all down his cheek without even enjoying any of this.

David must religiously apply his chapstick — of course he would — because his lips are smooth and plump against Chase's sensitive skin, and it's some of the better lips that have been on Chase's dick, definitely the best among the ballplayers. Like, some guys almost gave him papercuts, that's how bad it is. Anyway.  
David must have had some practice, because he's not exactly bad at this. Well, of course, even a bad blowjob is totally great. For example, Chase got graced with a shower quickie in the minors from Myers and it was like, abysmal, because Brett almost bit his dick clean off, or at least that's how it felt because the fucker couldn't keep his teeth away, and the kid had real sharp incisors — like getting blown by a fucking beaver. And despite all that Chase still came pretty hard, because it's a goddamn blowjob and it hardly gets better than your dick in someone's mouth.  
But this isn't even a bad blowjob at all. It's... pretty good? Chase doesn't know why he expected it to be bad, to be fair. Probably because Wright looks and acts like he still thinks babies come from the big stork. But then again, Chase heard Boy Scout camp gets pretty wild once everybody starts having a sex drive.

David's got a great mouth, he's smooth and wet about it, and he even swallows around Chase a couple times, which makes it very hard for Chase to keep quiet.  
And he _needs_ to keep quiet, because he doesn't know what they'll do if they get caught like this, Chase sitting upright with David twisted across, draped on top of Chase's lap, his head under the blanket, bobbing softly with Chase's hand on top of it. It's kind of thrilling though, and David's polo is hiking up so Chase can totally see his little muscular hip and his smooth back and the waistband of his underwear.

And David takes him deep again, almost chokes, and god damn it feels fucking awesome. Chase almost pushes his head down but it would be pretty rude of him, because nobody told David to give him a really good silky-smooth blowjob, he decided to do it all on his own for unknown horny reasons, and Chase is not gonna bite the hand that feeds.

He wonders how many times David's done this before, if he does this regularly, sucking teammates off on the way to road trips, and in his mind Chase imagines that that whole trash team's at it, maybe David's the team whore, maybe his ass and mouth have been everywhere from old-ass Julio Franco to fucking Lastings Milledge.

Shit, this is too fucking much.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He hisses, pushing at David's shoulder as nicely as it's possible for him to be right now. "Get up. Get up."

David tilts his head up and the blanket half-slides off of him. His hair is all static-ruffled and his lips are all wet and pink and his face is flushed, probably from being under the fleece, and Chase's dick is pressing against his cheek. He looks crazy hot.  
He looks like he's going to ask questions, but really Chase just can't handle it, he needs to fuck David. Like, really needs it, he might just die if he doesn't.

"Just—" Chase motions hurriedly and hopefully David understands that half his blood is down in his crotch and he's not got enough in his brain to form proper sentences. "Up! C'mon!" He whispers, stuffing his cock back in his boxers and doing up the top button of his pants. He doesn't need to be too thorough, really.

David scrambles to his feet, pretty dishevelled and all, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist, before reaching for something inside his bag, which Chase does not care for at all, he needs to get going. Chase sidesteps him out of the row, grabs him by the forearm, and drags him up the darkened aisle up to the bathrooms. They're all empty. Chase pushes one of the doors open with a shove of his hip, grabs David by the waist, and pulls him backward into the stall.  
He kicks the door closed, and suddenly it's just the two of them, in this really fucking tiny, really fucking cramped space.  
It's way smaller than Chase expected with two six foot plus guys in it, but he's totally going to fuck the shit out of David in here. Nothing's gonna stop him right now ; he's way too hard, way too far gone.

The back of his knees hit the toilet bowl. This is... definitely not hygienic, but what the hell. His dick's definitely taken over here. Like some kind of cool parasitic worm in his brain, or something equally gross and phallic. He glances ahead in the mirror that they're both facing, David in front of him, bright red in the face, breathing a little heavy.

He squeezes David's waist a little, and it's like David melts under his fingers, like he's got a superpower that makes David part his lips and expose his neck for kissing. Chase really wants to bite straight at it and leave a hickey like he's fucking 16 and ruining the coach's son behind the bleachers. Oh, he was a total ladykiller in high school, if cocky jocks with overcompensation complexes count as ladies. And they do, in Chase's book, because after all, he was the one sticking his dick in various cavities.

David's pretty much the opposite of that, but Chase has had his fair share of whiny little nerds too.  
First time he'll fuck some loser with a blog, though. Speaking of that, he might as well start doing the fucking, because he can see David's getting a little squirmy, and his own dick isn't a paragon of patience either.  
He pops his button back open, and taps David on the hip, and hopefully he gets the message and helps him pull down his pants. He does ; they make a good team for this at least. Chase hooks his fingers in David's belt hoops — the sexiest part of the pants, if you ask Chase — and tugs down, dragging David's preppy-ass gingham boxer shorts along for the ride down to his ankles. Fuck, he's totally got a cute ass, too. Chase kind of gropes it for a second, cause it feels pretty nice, checks in the mirror, and sees David has his pink, hard little dick in his hand.

"Fucking hell, kid." he mutters. "You're real horny for it."

David kind of just nods and makes a weird noise that's half-girl half-animal. Dude definitely needs to get laid, and with Chase's heart beating low and fast in his chest, there's nothing more certain than Chase's dick in David's ass, so he's got that covered.

He takes out his dick, kind of scoots so he's half-sat on the lidded toilet, and pulls David back.  
He almost forgets to spit on his fingers and spread David out a little, and ah, shit, fuck, fuck, condoms. He's a fucking idiot. He's a fucking imbecile and—  
Oh, nevermind. David hands him a foil packet. Jesus! Kid came prepared.

"You... fucking... slut." Chase mouths, snatching the condom from him and unwrapping it. He almost feels used. Was that like, David's plan all along? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Chase is about to get his dick wet, so he's a winner regardless. He's kind of okay with being meat if it means he gets to come.

David braces himself on the handles on the wall, which Chase knows are for turbulence, but that he finds very conveniently placed for the purpose of fucking, which makes you wonder if that Mile High Club shit is ever included in plane designs, which would mean airline companies consider the possibility of people fucking in their bathrooms and approve of it. It's something he'll have to think about when he's not wrapping a condom onto his cock.

David has lube, in a tiny little tube he produces from his pocket, because of course. Chase doesn't even ask, he doesn't even want to know. He knows David's a horny fucker now, and the Boy Scout image is just a façade, so. Yeah. David probably can't surprise him today. Or tonight. He's not sure what time it is right now. Hey, now that he thinks of it, that probably was what David was getting in his bag that was pissing him off so much, but that was then and this is now. And now, he just really needs to be inside of David, and he does just that, helps David lower himself into his lap, sinking onto his dick.

Okay, it’s fucking perfect. It’s tight, and messy, and totally nothing like the fantasy, but Chase loves it. David may be riding him, but he’s also kind of fucking up into David’s hot little ass, because Chase doesn’t really care for manners right now.

He looks up above David’s shoulder and into the mirror. Oh, that’s hot: David bouncing on his cock, white-knuckled on the support bars, his half-hard dick flopping up and down; Chase’s hands sliding up his tummy underneath his polo-shirt, pushing the fabric up to reveal the pasty but toned skin underneath. David’s tousled little blond bush climbs up in light hairs to his navel, and Chase’s fingers skate up further yet, and David's skin is soft like a girl's. Chase stares at his own movements, stares at David’s pink face, his wet little open mouth, his fucking tongue peeking out.  
So fucking sexy. Maybe this could be porn, maybe David should do porn, maybe he already does porn and Chase just doesn’t know it, no, that’s absurd, but it’s a hot thought so Chase feels obliged to give a hard thrust into David. Which tears a weird, low, guttural moan from David's throat, and almost makes Chase come right then. But he gets it together, because he's 27 not 17.

"Shh." He manages, and he pushes the t-shirt up further and finds David's pecs. They're plump and muscular and his little nipples are hard, they feel amazing and Chase cups them with his hands and resolves not to move them the rest of this.

It's getting really hot now, and the mirror is fogging up, which is a shame. There's sweat pearling at the back of Chase's knees and at his hairline and everywhere their skins touch. It's a little slippery, and David's panting and choking out small moans. Chase is sure he's trying to be quiet but he's ready to bet it's not the most successful thing he's ever tried, especially when Chase gives in and starts biting at the nice white skin of his shoulder. Kissing a little. Going for the earlobe too. That really, really gets David, apparently, and Chase can still see his face in the mirror, his tongue wetting his lips and peeking out of his wide open mouth. Fuck, fuck, what a whore! Chase can barely believe it. This is some of the hottest, and most ridiculous stuff he's ever seen.

"Fuck." He hisses, fucking up into David. "How long you been wanting to get on my dick?" He whispers into David's ear.

All that earns him is a whimper, and one of David's hands clasping on his forearm.  
Now Chase can't help thinking about it — how long has David wanted to fuck him? He was obviously eager and prepared enough earlier, so it's pretty clear he's been at least planning this, right? Is Chase being arrogant? It doesn't fucking matter. He's too busy thinking about Wright standing on third and thinking about Chase's dick. Or batting and being distracted by Chase behind the pitcher at second. Maybe he got hard in his cup during games? Maybe he had to jerk off between innings, maybe it was that bad? Chase is really enjoying the idea of being an irresistible sex object to this kid.  
Anyway, he's fucking David now and it feels really awesome.  
They both look ahead in the mirror, David tense and cross-eyed and a total mess, pink and drooling and insanely sexy.

"Such a slut for me, aren't you, David?" he purrs, like he always does to get a guy to touch his dick in the showers. Works every time. Drives them crazy.

It works really well on David. All of a sudden, he gasps, and clasps his hand hard around Chase's wrist. Chase can tell he's about to come, so he squeezes his hands where they are, grabbing at David's chest, and pinches his nipples. David just has the time to slap his hand over his mouth and muffle a yelp as he arches and shoots off so hard most of his come ends up in the washbasin.

It's totally the hottest thing Chase has seen in a while. He comes with a deep, hard, kind of mean thrust into David, who's too busy catching his breath to really complain and yes, yes, yes, fuck. This was the best idea, ever. Shit.

David's still coming down, sitting on his lap, stroking up and down Chase's forearms, all starry-eyed.  
Chase hits his left asscheek lightly with his palm. He's way too heavy. He's got to stand up. And Chase needs to pull out.

Before they start cleaning up, while they're still hazy and all, David turns around, his ass and dick still out.  
He kisses Chase, all soft and cute and chaste.  
They just fucked in an airplane bathroom, but okay. That's adorable.

The rest goes pretty fast, because Chase is really hazy and he really wants to go to sleep right now. The condom's thrown in the trash, the come is wiped from the appliances, and there's no one waiting outside when they open the door, which, fuck yeah. They sneak back to their seats, Chase's legs all weak like he's walking on clouds, which, technically, he is. His head's almost completely empty. So letting David fall asleep on him is definitely a great idea.

"Imma take a nap." David mumbles.

"Okay." Chase says, feeling really dumb and tired.

He leans his head on top of David's, and goes right to sleep.

When he wakes up, the seatbelt signs are lit, and Ryan walks past him, grinning at the fucking Mets brat snoozing against his chest.

"So what was that bitch fit all about, then? All of that for this?" He teases, heading back to his seat, and it's totally unfair, because Chase can't defend himself, he's only half awake, and he needs to buckle his fucking seatbelt, or something, and now Wright's waking up, just to add to the fucking mess in Chase's fuzzy head.

"Hey." Wright smiles up at him like they just woke up side by side in a fucking romantic suite in linen bedsheets, or something. When really they had a quickie in some toilets. A pretty hot, really good quickie with a divisional rival he loves to hate... with an annoying kid with way too many good intentions to be an actual, real life, adult person... and a really good ass... and an amazing mouth... both of which he'd totally fuck again if given the opportunity...

Oh, shit.

What has Chase gotten himself into?

**Author's Note:**

> You'll have noticed that style and tone-wise this is pretty heavily influenced by [AngGriffen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngGriffen/pseuds/AngGriffen)'s Joe Mauer stories, [What Happens in Pittsburgh Stays in Pittsburgh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/849167) and [Idiot Plot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/315829). I was already planning this fic, but after I read those I felt like I had to at least go for that mid 2000's style. I'm not as good as jokes and maintaining character voice, though.
> 
> I just love writing about absurd ships of players nobody cares about anymore  
>    
> Thanks for reading! **Pleaseeeeee leave a comment if you liked it!**


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